the silhouette of a perfect choice
by cinnab3an
Summary: Derek Freaking Hale has come to Beacon Hills High School to choose his mate. He might be a total douche, but Stiles hopes Scott gets chosen anyway. He's a good bro like that. Except... that's not how life works, apparently. Because fuck him.


**Inspired by a tumblr prompt!**

 **XxX**

"You really want this?" Stiles asks. "Like, are you sure we're talking about the same _Derek Hale_ here? Because the last time we saw him, he was a total ass to both of us. You can't possibly be telling me you want to go and a _udition to be his mate."_

 _"_ Well," Scott says, "that was a long time ago. I bet he's changed."

They're on the way to the gymnasium, where all the potential mates for Derek _Freaking_ Hale are being herded and lined up. _Like fresh meat at the market,_ Stiles thinks, before remembering that Scott is one of those potential mates and feeling decidedly less amused.

"That was last month," he replies with arched brows. "There's no way he went from I'm Derek the Growly and you _will_ be intimidated to Scott Worthy mating material in a month." There's absolutely no way, because the last time they'd met had been on Valentine's Day when the pair of them had been at a flower shop preparing a glorious bouquet for Stiles's mom. Derek _Freaking_ Hale had stormed into the place, wrecking the peaceful atmosphere with his glare-y, frown-y personality and disrespectful eyebrows. He'd also taken one look at the bunch of flowers the boys had put together–admittedly unprofessional looking but full of feeling, and isn't that what really matters?–and sneered at both of them. He'd growled at the cashier too during his brief purchase of a single–and, might Stiles add, _stereotypical_ –rose, and Stiles had felt _so_ disgusted with his attitude toward the poor girl that he'd coughed up the last bit of the savings not put together to pay for the bouquet in a tip that was more than twice what he might have considered before the interaction. Anybody who behaves the way he does is absolutely not worthy of his best friend. Scott deserves somebody who is soft and sweet and likes things like smiling and sunshine and kittens, like–like Scott, who is–dipping his head, cheeks flushing, and–hold on. _Hold on_. "No way," Stiles says, aghast. "No way. _No way_. You're–you're _interested_ in him! You are!"

"Stiles, shh!" Scott hisses, looking up in panic as if the rest of the school doesn't know that Scott McCall made the List of Potential Mates for Macho Man Derek Hale, as if they'll think it weird that Scott is maybe a little interested in being his mate. "It's not that I'm interested in him. I don't–at least, I don't think I am. Maybe a little. I don't know?" Scott wrinkles his nose and Stiles grins at the way his whole goofy face twists. "He's good looking, I guess. And he's not mating for love, he's mating to please his family, so it's not like I have to worry about being swept off my feet or anything. I won't have to expect any uncomfortable wooing or anything like that. It'll be almost like we're roommates, I think." He pauses, glancing around the hallway again, but any spectators they might've attracted earlier are no longer watching. He leans closer. "Plus, being his mate would–really help us out, you know? My mom could really use the money."

Stiles is a little caught up on _it's not like I have to worry about being swept off my feet_ because c'mon, that's his Scotty! He deserves a mate who wants to woo him with sunshine and smiles and kittens! That's why it takes him a few seconds of being outraged on his best bro's behalf before he registers the last few sentences and has to concede.

Derek _Freaking_ Hale, brother to Laura _Fucking_ Hale, CEO of ALPHA Design, probably wakes up every morning on a bed fitted with sheets made from actual gold thread. The dude and his entire family are practically shitting money, and for families like the McCalls and Stilinskis and pretty much 70% of Beacon Hills, a mate with money like that is near vital.

As it is, half the people on the List are likely desperate to be chosen for that very reason. The other half, Stiles bets, are after a mate with a pretty face. Though he's gotta admit–and grudgingly of course, because the dude's a fucking dick–Derek _Freaking_ Hale is not a pretty face. Calling him a pretty face would be, like, downgrading him or something. Derek is what you get when you go to McDonalds's and order a McFreakingHottie; he's the last crayon in the box that's got the perfect paper wrapping and sharp tip when the rest are all grubby and worn to grossness. His personality might rate two thumbs down but nobody in their right mind is going to look at him and think _damn, I'm disappointed with what I see,_ least of all his mate.

He's a lot better than Scott's simple "he's good looking, I guess," but Stiles can excuse that slight because Scott is like 97% straight and therefore cannot fully appreciate the beauty that is Derek _Freaking_ Hale to somebody who likes dick.

(Stiles is 3% unsure about Scott's sexuality because his bro's spent a good few years by his side pining after the popular girls at school like he was being graded on it but also walked into the lockers in the boys' locker room on four separate occasions when he saw quiet kid Isaac Lahey getting changed)

The closer they get to the gymnasium, the higher tensions seem to be. One girl seems even to be in tears over the stress of will-he, won't-he, and the people around her are visibly torn between comforting her and practicing the speeches they have to give to Derek so he can "get to know them"–get to know a few choice bits of their lives, is more like it, like reading facts from a brochure about the Grand Canyon and getting hyped before getting there and finding out too late that Mother Nature is a bitch when it comes to Nevada and you're just as likely to be roasted alive by the sun as get drowned by sudden and frequent downpours.

Stiles clenches one fist and swears to pack both sunscreen and his two favorite hoodies the next time he visits. He won't be caught by surprise again, he _won't_.

"So, Scotty my dude," he says as they approach the line leading out of the gymnasium. They're both startled when Miss Blake bursts through the doors while sobbing–the mating auditions held by the high school tend to be restricted to the high school _students_ but apparently Derek _Freaking_ Hale is too much of the good stuff for the teachers to resist. "Anyway–um, what do you have prepared?"

"Prepared?" Scott echoes, watching Miss Blake storm down the hallway, alternating between wailing and snapping at students to get out of her way.

"Your speech? You know, All About Scott McCall: the good, the great, the adorable?" Stiles continues, though he can tell by the lost expression that Scott is, well, _not_ prepared. "Shit. Okay. We have time to come up with something good real quick."

The mating auditions tend to work in mostly the same way, whether they're held by the high school for the younger participants or not. The person mate-seeking has a whole packet to fill out describing what they look for in a mate as well as what they don't. The packet is sent to whatever moderator is overlooking the auditions, and then they form a list of every Beacon Hills citizen that is eligible. Eligible meaning that they fit all the requested requirements, are currently unmated, and have signed up to be part of the mate-seeking community. Stiles's signed up for three people in the last two years, two of them took one look at him and sent him off and the third made it through half of his "All About M. Stilinski: the okay, the bad, the really not so good" before turning him out. The speech is supposed to be about the things you'd use to describe yourself quick, like if you were speed dating–what would you tell a potential mate in fifteen seconds to keep them interested?

For Stiles, of course, that leads to things like _son of the Sheriff, can fit entire fist in mouth, kind of an asshole but super loyal._ And that tends to not be what people are looking for.

Scott, though, is filled with all things bright and happy. The only reason he hasn't been chosen by the three previous mate-seekers is that they'd all picked their mate before he'd had the chance to go up and melt their hearts with his speech, Stiles is _sure_ of it.

And while he's still pretty convinced that his best bro can do so much better than Derek "Asshole" Hale, Stiles does hope that his speech will have Derek make like the Grinch and grow his heart a few sizes, if only because the money will fucking rock and make life so much easier for him and his mom. And absolutely not at all for the fact that they are both in their senior year of high school and after they graduate mate-seeking is gonna be so much harder.

"We've got time," Stiles repeats. Another person comes running from the coach's office, where Derek, the principal, and Coach Finstock are gathered. He stomps the ground with every step, looking the very picture of fury, and a few people ahead of Stiles and Scott take one look at him and step out of line and away. They move forward a few steps, closer to the office. Stiles shrugs. "Less time. But still, time. What're you thinking?"

Scott doesn't say anything, but he does tilt his head to the side like a big dumb puppy, and when he starts to beam Stiles _swears_ his heart has been killed by the cuteness.

"As sure as I am that nobody can turn down your super awesome puppy face we both know that you're getting nowhere if you don't have anything to say."

seriously though–Scott's super awesome puppy face has gotten them out of all sorts of trouble when they were younger. It's irresistible. If Stiles weren't sure that that way lay madness and hopeless unrequited love, he'd've fallen for Scott years ago.

"I'm Scott, I'm seventeen and a senior here. I live with my single mom and I have a job at the vet with Dr. Deaton," he says.

"Yeah," Stiles says with a wince, "them's the brochure facts, Scotty. Tell me about yourself."

Scott perks. "I–"

"This is _hopeless_!" Coach Finstock snaps, interrupting him. Scott and Stiles turn to watch as the coach bursts though his door, dragging a freshman behind him by the shoulder. The kid's still spouting off his speech and Stiles can't help but be a little impressed by his dedication, what with the coach practically spitting with fury above him. "None of you morons are acceptable! It's like you got your speeches from the Internet or something!"

One of the kids further up in line makes a questioning noise and says, loud enough for Stiles to hear, "you get all _your_ sports speeches from the internet and they aren't even _about_ sports." It's a little awesome, how red the coach's face gets. Stiles kinda wants to fist bump whoever spoke.

He settles for grabbing Scott by the wrist, preparing to pull him away from the madness and inevitable disappointment. Of course, Coach is distracted from his foe by the action and zeroes in on them, still pissed and ready to spit fire at anyone else who opposes him.

"McCall!" he shouts. The boy he'd been dragging gets dropped as the coach storms forward, toward them. "You! You're a nice kid. You'd make a decent match. Are you signed up?"

"Yeah." Scott smiles at the coach with fucking butterflies in his eyes, blissfully ignorant of how Stiles is trying to signal _hell to the fucking no, time to abort_ with frantic hand motions.

"Good. Let's go. And you– _Bilinski_!" Finstock turns around jabs a finger at Stiles' chest, glaring at him with wild eyes. "No funny business! I'm not gonna let you and your crazy ruin McCall's chances here!"

Stiles is a little offended–he'd been trying to help Scott, clearly! There's no reason to get hostile! Mostly though, he gets it. Though he doesn't really want to feel sorry for Finstock, the dude _is_ dealing with trying to impress some hotshot gazillionaire

And, though it's not like he does it on purpose(most of the time), Stiles is pretty good at screwing people over like that. So. Whatever.

Finstock catches Scott by the shoulder and starts pulling him away once Stiles nods his acquiescence. He watches his best bro go, feeling hope and something oddly like pride bubbling in his chest. That's–that's his boy, that's his Scotty on his way to get picked right there. Apparently he's got more of a shot than anyone else on the list, which, Stiles is _so fucking proud of_. The rest of the world might like to treat Scott McCall like a _used_ sock but he's got better odds than the rest of them at winning a hotshot mate.

Then he remembers that, hey, Scott still doesn't have a speech prepared, shit, so he darts after them. Scott, who seems to have come to the same conclusion(see, he's not dumb it just takes a while for some of the more important thoughts to cycle through), has his eyes wide and a little terrified.

"Wait," he says, but Finstock shakes his head and keeps pushing.

"He doesn't–!" Stiles starts but the coach fixes him with a withering glare and he stops short and falls silent.

"You're gonna shut up," Finstock says, as one eye starts to twitch. Stiles side-eyes it and decides he wants nothing to do with teenagers when he grows up if they have this much effect on adults. "You're gonna stay right there. You're going to be quiet, for once in your life, and you're going to leave right now before Mr Hale catches sight of you and decides to leave. Got it?"

Conflicting orders, as always. Got it.

I'll be right here, he mouths to Scott, pointing at his feet as they push through the door. Scott still looks worried but that just means he understands the gravity of his situation, which is good.

When the door slams shut behind Scott and Finstock, Stiles rushes up to it. There's disappointed chatter coming from the crowd that's on its way to dispersing, so he has to press his ear against the door to be able to hear anything.

At first, he just gets the low rumble that he recognizes as Derek _freaking_ Hale's uniquely growly voice. He can't make out the words; Derek is speaking too quietly.

Then Scott starts talking, and Stiles wants to slap himself when he realizes Scott's just repeating the brochure speech–the one Stiles had specifically told him not to say.

"Shit," he mumbles to himself. "Scotty, you gotta try harder."

There's silence on the other side of the door, and Stiles presses closer. Whatever Derek's about to say, Stiles _needs_ to hear.

Except Finstock must not have shut the door all the way. Or maybe the door is just as shitty as Stiles's luck.

Because he leans just a little bit more of his weight onto it and it suddenly bursts open, spilling him forward into the coach's office.

He stumbles to his feet, taking in Scott's nervous expression and the twin looks of fury on Finstock and the principal's faces with unease. Stiles resolutely _does not_ look at the dark figure standing in the corner of his vision that he knows is Derek Hale.

"Whaaa-this, this isnt.. the bathroom," he babbles, hoping to save the situation before he gets rid of any chance Scott has. "I'll just–I'm just gonna scoot. Sorry about that. Carry on." Stiles salutes to Finstock as he turns to leave, is in the process of saying, "bee tee dubs, you should totally get that door fixed, it totally doesn't shut right," when Scott grabs him by the shoulder with a hand that's trembling with visible nerves.

"Stiles!" He hisses, but there's no elaboration on what he wants Stiles to do. It could be a reprimand for bursting in (on accident! Scout's Honor!) or it could even be a plea to stay for moral support. He decides it's the latter, claps his hand over Scott's and winks. "You–"

It seems… nobody wants Scott to finish a sentence today.

This time, it's Derek Freaking Hale speaking over him.

"I want him," he says suddenly. Everybody else falls still and silent. Stiles theorizes they're all suspended with hope. He, himself, is ready to burst with joy that Scott's been chosen. He squeezes his buddy's hand and Scott turns to look at him with stunned relief in his eyes.

And then Derek _keeps talking_ and _ruins everything_.

"I want him," Derek repeats, and points toward the unexpected teen.

Wide eyed, Stiles points at himself. Scott's hand feels slack on his shoulder now. They're both shocked. "Me?"

"Uh, Mr Hale," principal stammers, and Stiles corrects himself; they're all shocked. "But h-he's not on the list."

"I don't care. I want him."

Everybody in the room turns to stare at Stiles.

 _Shit,_ he thinks to himself. _Shit._


End file.
